


Honor Thy Father

by alynwa



Category: Boston Legal
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 22:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alan's father passes away and Denny helps him cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Alan had been reviewing his notes and tweaking his questions for the 2PM Ffolkes deposition when his intercom buzzed. _What now? The deposition is in an hour!_ Knowing that his assistant would become even more nervous than usual if he thought he had annoyed his boss, Alan took a moment to breathe deeply before picking up the phone. "Yes, Clarence."

"Alan, sorry to disturb but, there's a Dr. Stone calling from Faulkner Hospital in uh… Jamaica Plain? She says she needs to speak with you immediately."

Impatient to get back to work, Alan curtly said, "I don't know a Dr. Stone. Did she tell you why she's calling me?"

"Um, yes, Alan, she..." Alan could tell from his tone of voice that Clarence was rattled and was probably now shifting his eyes from side to side. "She said it's about your father."

Alan swallowed hard. He hadn't even thought about his father in years, let alone seen or spoken with him. _Damn. He's probably has a case of delirium tremens or a broken arm from falling down drunk. He must need me to pay his bill. That's all I was ever good for to him: His personal ATM until I told him to go to hell._

"Alan? What should I tell her?"

"I'll speak to her, Clarence. Which line?"

"Line 4."

"Alan Shore."

"Mr. Shore, Dr. Stone. Gowan Shore was admitted last week. I'm sorry you weren't informed sooner but, he was adamant with the staff that he had no next of kin."

"Don't apologize, Doctor, he and I are…estranged."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Shore, but I have to tell you that your father has passed away. The only phone number in his wallet was this one."

Alan sat up straighter in his seat and closed the file in front of him. "He's dead? What, what happened to him, exactly? And, from what you said earlier, you didn't speak to him. If you were not his doctor, what is your position there, please?"

"I'm the Chief of Staff. He was found lying in front of his home in Dedham last Saturday by a passerby. He had had a major stroke. He regained consciousness briefly. That was when he told staff he had no family. Unfortunately, this morning, he went into cardiac arrest and we were unable to revive him. Before we make any decisions regarding the disposition of a deceased patient who ostensibly has no family, we make a good faith effort to find a family member or, at the least, a friend who might agree to handle the final arrangements. One of your business cards was in your father's wallet."

"Let me guess," Alan interjected, "finding a card that says 'Alan Shore, Attorney at Law, Crane Poole and Schmidt' set off some alarm bells in your Legal Department?"

Dr. Stone sighed, "I won't lie to you, Mr. Shore. When the property clerk found the card, she brought it to Legal and they contacted me to suggest, very strongly, that I personally make this call. The reputations of your firm in general and you in particular are well known to our lawyers. I have reviewed your father's records and this hospital did all it could to save him. You can certainly get a court order to have your own expert review them, of course. Would you like to speak to our Legal Department?"

Alan felt numb. He didn't want to appear like a complete douche to Dr. Stone, so rather than tell her what he was feeling ( _I don't care about any of this)_ , he simply replied, "Thank you, Dr. I'm satisfied that everything that could be done was done. Faulkner has an impeccable reputation of its own."

A sigh of relief came through his phone. "Thank you, Mr. Shore. Again, we are sorry for your loss."

"I do have a question, however."

Dr. Stone responded guardedly, "Yes?"

Alan rubbed his forehead with his left hand; he felt a headache starting. He said, "You said my business card was in his wallet. The assumption could be made that we are related but, how did you know I was his son?"

"Oh," she said. Her tone of voice told him she was relieved she had a ready answer to his inquiry. "The words, 'my son', were written on the front of the card. I assume you will have a funeral director contact us to claim the bo...um, your father?"

Alan was stunned. "I'll have to get back to you. I have to go. Thank you for calling me. Goodbye, Dr. Stone." Alan hung up without waiting for a response. He sat at his desk with his head in his hands for a moment, and then pushed the intercom button. "Clarence, please find out if Denny is in his office alone and tell him I'll be there soon."

"Denny."

Denny Crane looked up from his newspaper and smiled as Alan walked through his door. "Yes, Alan. I thought you'd be in…Alan, what on earth is the matter?" The look on Alan's face made Denny stand up and go to him. Alan walked directly to the bar and poured a drink of scotch. He took a long draw, walked over to Denny's couch and sat heavily. Denny eased down next to him and waited for Alan to speak. In his mind, he counted down, _3, 2. 1…_

"Gowan Shore is dead."

"Who the hell is Gowan Shore, Alan?"

"My father."

Denny was shocked. "Your…father? I thought your father was dead!"

Alan sipped more scotch. "He was to me. Now, he is to everyone. Since this morning. I just found out."

Denny moved closer and rubbed his friend's back. "I don't know what to say. I'm sorry, Alan."

Just then, Carl Sack walked into the office. He stopped when he saw the two of them sitting on the couch and frowned when he saw the drink in Alan's hand. "Why are you drinking when you have clients and opposing counsel sitting in Conference Room 2 waiting to start a deposition?"

Denny snarled at Carl, "Jerry is second chair on that case! Tell him to do it. Alan just found out his father died."

Carl visibly softened. "Alan, I am sorry." Alan nodded in acknowledgement but, said nothing. "I'll tell Jerry to start and not to expect you."

Denny answered, "Thank you, Carl."

A few minutes after Carl left, Shirley tapped on the door casement and entered the office. She went straight to Alan, kissed him on the forehead and said, "Alan, Carl just told me. I am so sorry. Whatever I can do…"

Alan shot off the couch and shouted, "Enough!" Denny and Shirley looked stunned. Alan whirled to face Shirley. Speaking in a cold, emotionless monotone, he said, "Have you ever heard me talk about my father? No, you haven't. Denny has. Twice. The first time, I told him I was a bitter disappointment to my father. I know that for a fact because he used to tell me so every time he had a wee bit too much to drink, which was very often. The second time, my friend Adrienne and I told him and Tara how my father had beaten the shit out of me. So, Shirley, this is what you can do for me. Nothing. Please tell Carl the same thing. I refuse to be a hypocrite. I do not want condolence cards, flowers, sympathetic hugs or back pats. I do not want announcements made to the staff. I do not want anyone offering to represent the firm at his funeral. There isn't going to _be_ a funeral. I do want, right now, to finish this drink and to speak to Denny. Privately."

Shirley's face looked like it was made of stone. "Fine, Alan," she said.

Alan relented slightly, "Shirley, I'm…sorry, I don't want to come off as a total ass, but please understand. You and your father adored each other. My father and I…didn't."

 Shirley looked at the floor, nodded, then stood up. "Alright, Alan. I'll make sure Carl doesn't tell anyone else. And, for what it's worth, I hope you can live with whatever decisions you make regarding this situation." She turned to leave.

"Shirley?"

"Yes, Alan?"

"You always, _always_ , have my permission to kiss me. Anywhere on my body you'd like." Shirley just shook her head as she walked out the door.

Denny stood up, went to the door and closed it. He looked balefully at Alan. Alan waved his hand and said, "Please don't start with me, Denny. Shirley is tougher than you and I combined; she's over it already, I can almost guarantee. What I need is for you to tell me why I shouldn't just let the hospital dispose of him however they see fit."

The look on Denny's face went from reproach to flat out shock. "Alan! No matter what, he was your father! You can't just let him get tossed out like garbage!"

Alan drained his glass and placed it on the bar. "Actually, I think I could live with that," he said as he prepared to leave. "Well, I'm going back to my office. Since I am no longer expected at the deposition, I can use the time to take care of paperwork so I don't have to work tomorrow or Sunday. See you on the balcony!"

Denny watched him saunter down the hall with a look of consternation. _He isn't as tough as he thinks,_ he thought. _I can't leave it like this._

Denny was on the balcony for almost an hour before Alan arrived. He took the glass and lit cigar Denny proffered, sat and puffed silently for a few moments. He got up and walked to the edge and looked down into the courtyard entrance of the building. "Denny, remember watching the Great Halloween Buzz Lightyear Battle? Fun times."

Denny joined him at the wall. "Alan, seriously, what are you going to do about your father?"

Alan placed his drink on the ledge, turned and looked Denny straight in the eye. "Seriously, Denny, I don't know. What I do know is that he'll keep just fine until I make a decision. That hospital is so happy that Crane Poole and Schmidt isn't setting its sights on them for malpractice, they would hold him in the Chief of Staff's _office_ before doing something without my knowledge. He'll keep in the morgue for awhile. So, to quote Scarlett O'Hara: Tomorrow's another day."

Denny shook his head and looked away. _I've always known Alan has the capacity to be a coldhearted bastard but, this is outrageous. Even for him._

Alan stepped in front of him. "Something on your mind, Denny?"

Denny decided quickly that now was not the time to explore the issue further. "Yes. Food. I'm starving. Let's go have dinner."

Alan smiled and said, "Good idea! I would love a big, juicy steak."

As they walked back into Denny's office and gathered their things, Denny said, "Did we have a sleep-over planned?"

Alan closed the door behind them as they began to walk to the elevators. "No."

Denny said, "Please come home with me tonight, Alan."

Alan smiled for the second time that day. "Why, Denny! How could I turn down such a sweet invitation?"


	2. Chapter 2

Alan's appetite was substantial. He ordered a medium rare filet mignon with a ten ounce Brazilian lobster tail, asparagus with hollandaise sauce and a baked potato with butter and sour cream. Denny "only" had a rare porterhouse with mashed potatoes and a salad. They shared a seventy-five dollar bottle of merlot. Alan spoke about how pleased he was with how Jerry had handled the deposition and how he anticipated a successful outcome to the case. He talked at length about an art exhibition that was coming to Boston that he really wanted to attend. He asked Denny if he thought they should join a gym as they perused the dessert menu.

What struck Denny the most, however, was what Alan _didn't_ talk about. _I have a really bad feeling about this,_ Denny worried. Aloud, he said, "Are you ready to go? I'm getting sleepy." Alan nodded affirmatively as he polished off the last of his crème brulee. He pulled out his cell phone and called Denny's limo driver to meet them while Denny took care of the check.

It was almost 10:30 when they got into the car. They started dozing off on the way home. Denny opened his eyes just as they pulled up in front of his suburban home. _Thank God it's Friday, we can sleep in tomorrow morning._ He nudged Alan awake and they exited the car, said goodnight to the driver and walked up the porch stairs to Denny's front door. Denny fumbled with the keys for a moment before he found the right one. He ignored Alan's smart-ass remark about being so used to servants; he couldn't handle unlocking a door on his own.

When they entered Denny's bedroom, the bed had been turned down in anticipation of his coming home for the weekend. Alan started removing his clothes and tossing them on a chair. He looked at Denny, who was carefully placing his suit on a hanger. "Denny, do you want to have a nightcap?"

Denny had practically jumped into his pj's and his bed. "Alan, I am slightly drunk already and I'm tired. What I want is for you to come here and go to sleep." Alan immediately put down the glasses he had been holding and slid into bed next to Denny. Denny stretched out his right arm and Alan moved close so that his head rested on Denny's chest. There was a time, a long time ago, when having a man, any man this close to him would have repulsed him, to say the least. Now, he kissed the top of Alan's head, said good-night, wrapped his arms around him and drifted off.

Denny was jerked awake by Alan's whimpering and shaking. _Oh, no! Let it be just a bad dream!_ He watched him, not sure if he should wake him up. The shaking rapidly progressed to thrashing, the whimpering to outright sobbing. _Aw, crap!_ Denny sat up and actually caught Alan by the arm and the waist of his boxers as he tried to bolt out of bed. "ALAN!" _Screw not waking him up!_ _If Alan gets out the bed, I won't be able to catch him. We're not tied together!_ Alan was fighting him, trying to get away. "ALAN! Wake up! For God's sake, wake UP!"

Alan was on the edge of the bed. He sat there, breathing heavily. Denny shook him slightly. "Alan?"

Awake now, Alan turned around and looked at Denny with a confused expression on his face. "Denny? Was I…"

"Yes, Alan, you were starting to have a night terror. Do you remember any of what you were dreaming?"

Alan lay back down and Denny pulled him in close to him. He was trembling. "There was blood, lots of blood. And, something was chasing me. I was terrified. I'm so glad I wasn't alone, Denny."

Denny hugged him tightly. "Me, too," Denny said.

"I don't understand, Denny. This is the first night terror I've had in months."

They clung to one another for awhile, each lost in thought. Denny looked over at the clock, 3:56AM. He knew what had to be said. And, that he was the only person who could say it that Alan would hear. _Well,_ he thought, _it's now or never._ "Alan, am I your friend?"

Alan looked at Denny as if he had taken leave of his senses. "Denny! You are my _best_ friend! You know that, so what is this about?"

"If I am your friend, Alan, listen to me. I know you. I believe I know your heart. And, as much as you do to hide it, I know you _have_ a heart. You show your heart to me every day. A heart that loves, cares, hurts and wants. What you hate about yourself, Alan, is that you _do_ care. There is a part of you that is mourning the death of your father. The father you wanted to be proud of you, the father you wanted to love you, the father you, despite your hatred, loved. I know he let you down, Alan. I know. But if you give into the part of you that hates him, the part of you that says let him go to a Potter's Field; you will live to regret it. The self-loathing part of you will rise up and choke the life out of you. It will, Alan. I wanted you here with me because I knew night terrors would come for you. I _knew_ it. How could they not? Your father is dead, Alan. Whatever your differences, your arguments, it's too late now to do anything about it. Any chance to reconcile is gone. You're acting like you don't care and I know you do. Don't let the hatred kill the decency in you, Alan. Honor thy father. Honor your soul. Cremate him or give him a decent burial. I love you, Alan. Do not let this destroy you. If you do, you will surely grow into a bitter old man and I won't be there to help you. I'm begging you, Alan, please listen to me." Denny hugged him even tighter. "Am I still your friend, Alan?"

For what seemed like a year to Denny, Alan just laid there quietly with his eyes open, looking at nothing. Finally, he looked up into Denny's face and when he answered, Alan's voice was thick with emotion, "Yes, dammit, Denny, you are still my friend. I love you and you're right. I should hate him, but I don't. I can't." Alan sighed deeply. "I will make arrangements for him to be cremated. There is a funeral parlor in Dedham; I'll give them a call this morning. I won't have a funeral or memorial, though. If those are truly for the living, as I have been told, I don't need one. My father and I were alike in one way: Neither one of us is very connected to the canvas. If he had friends, I don't know them. As for family, I'm it, so whether there's a will or not, I get everything, such as it is." Denny, still encircling Alan in his arms, grunted in response. "I guess I'll go to the house this afternoon to go through his records to find out about his finances and whatnot. Denny, I feel I can confide this to you in light of your…impassioned plea. Do you know what struck me this morning when the doctor told me my father died?"

Denny asked softly, "What?"

"I'm an orphan. I'm a 46 year old man and my first thought after I hung up the phone was: I'm an orphan!" The tears flowed then. He held on to Denny and cried like his heart would break. After awhile, he got himself under control.

Denny stroked his hair and said, "Sounds like we have a big day today. Let's get some sleep."

Alan hugged Denny. "Denny, I…you don't…"

"Forget it, Alan. You're stuck with me. Denny Crane! G'night."

Alan smiled to himself as he settled into Denny's body and started to drift away. "Seems so. Thank God. Good night, Denny."


	3. Chapter 3

Alan slept until almost nine o'clock. When he opened his eyes, he saw he was alone. He walked into the bathroom, answered Nature's call, then showered and shaved. When he opened the door, he could see Denny sitting on the balcony dressed and drinking a cup of coffee. Alan pulled a pair of jeans out of the closet (he slept there so often, he kept work and leisure clothes there) and a long-sleeved T-shirt from the dresser. He stepped through the balcony doors and noticed that Denny had brought a cup of coffee for him as well. Picking it up, he sat downed and smiled wanly. "Good morning, Denny! Thank you for the coffee."

Denny was dressed casually in khakis and a shirt. He slid some papers he had been holding across the table to Alan. "I was bored waiting for you to finally decide to get up so, I looked up some funeral homes in Dedham."

Alan said, "Huh," and picked up the list to peruse it. "This one, Kinney's, isn't that far from Raven Hill, the street where my father's house is; where I was raised."

Denny reached into his shirt pocket and handed Alan his cell phone. "No time like the present."

Alan sighed but, dutifully took the phone, called the number for Kinney's Funeral Home, stood up and moved closer to the balcony ledge and spoke quietly into the cell for almost 25 minutes. When he ended the call, he handed the phone to Denny, said "Thank you" and sat back down and swallowed the rest of the lukewarm coffee.

After almost a minute of silence, Denny said, "Well?"

Alan cleared his throat. "Well, the home is sending someone to Faulkner Hospital to claim the body between 12:30 and one o'clock. I told the funeral director, Roy Kinney, that I want him cremated immediately. No service will be scheduled. There is a strong possibility they could cremate him today, in fact."

Denny asked, "So, you could actually get your father's ashes today?"

"Not likely. They need time to, you know, cool off. The earliest I could pick up them up is tomorrow afternoon so; I told Mr. Kinney I will pick them up Monday, around 8PM."

 Denny stood up and stretched. "So, Alan. My driver is ready to go whenever we're ready. What's on our agenda?"

"Are you hungry, Denny?"

"Are you kidding? I'm still digesting last night's dinner!"

"Me, too. I actually need to run into the office to pick up a file. You don't even have to get out of the car. Then, we'll go to the hospital so I can pick up Gowan's personal property. He should have been carrying the house key. From there, we'll go to the house and look for his personal and financial records. After that, we'll decide what to do next depending on what we find."

Denny turned to go into the house. "OK, let's go."

True to his word, Alan was only out of the car long enough to get on the elevator, get the file from his office and come right back. As the driver turned left on Berkeley, Denny watched Alan place the file in his briefcase, then sit back and look at the passing scenery. The ride would only take about 20 minutes and Alan didn't seem inclined to engage in small talk. _He'll talk when he's ready._ Denny looked out the window and realized that River Way had just turned into Jamaica Way. _We're almost there,_ he thought. Aloud, he said, "Do you know where the property office is?"

"No, but I'm sure someone will tell me. Their Legal Department has put the fear of God, or at least, the fear of _me_ into the staff."

Sure enough, when they went to the reception desk in the hospital lobby, Alan introduced himself to the woman behind the desk. She said as she picked up her phone, "Pleased to meet you. Dr. Stone told all front desk personnel to expect you and to call her if she was in the hospital; I'm paging her now. Please, have a seat over there and she will be right with you."

Less than ten minutes later, a woman walked toward them with her hand outstretched. Alan rose from his seat, smoothed his T-shirt like he was in court and stuck out his hand. "Mr. Shore, I'm Dr. Stone."

They shook hands and Alan motioned to Denny and said, "This is my friend and coworker, Denny Crane." Denny rose from his seat and offered his hand with a smile.

Dr. Stone took it and said, "Hello. I assume you are the Crane in…"

Denny jumped in, "In Crane, Poole and Schmidt. Yes, I am. Alan is my best friend. I'm here to support him."

Dr. Stone looked a little intimidated. Alan smiled and said, "I promise you, Dr. Shore, I have no intention of filing any legal action against this hospital. We are simply here to retrieve Gowan Shore's possessions."

"Do you want to see your father, Mr. Shore?"

Alan bit his lip. "I don't think it's necessary…"

Denny grabbed Alan's elbow. "Please excuse us for a moment, Dr. Stone; I need to speak with my friend here." He guided Alan out the exit door and to the left, so that they were standing in front of the lobby window in sight of the Chief of Staff.  "Alan, go see your father."

"Why? What will it prove? _He_ won't know or care! What's the point?"

Denny looked at Alan warmly. "This is the benefit of having a friend who's almost twice your age. Trust me on this one, Alan. This is not about proving anything. This is about closure. You're right, your father won't know or care that you saw him, but _you'll_ know. Y _ou'll_ care. That may mean nothing to you now; it may mean nothing to you ever. But, if the day ever comes that it _does_ , you will be grateful that you did this thing." Denny held his finger up to Alan's face and said, "You listen to Denny now."

Alan didn't say a word. He turned on his heel and walked back inside with Denny right behind him. He walked over to Dr. Stone and said, "Please take me to see my father."

She nodded and said, "Follow me."

The hospital's morgue was located in the basement. When they exited the elevator, they walked down a long hallway that ended at a stainless steel door. Dr. Stone unlocked the door and held it for them to walk through. "Wait here," she said. She went to the desk and looked through a log, wrote something down on a piece of paper, then motioned for them to follow her. She finally stopped at a large drawer, turned around and said, "Mr. Shore is here." She reached down, grabbed the drawer handle and pulled it open slightly. "I'll give you privacy. I'll be at the desk. Take all the time you need."

Alan was staring at the drawer as if he expected his father to jump out of it.

Denny smiled at the doctor, said, "Thank you," and moved to the opposite side of the drawer. He watched Alan and when he finally returned his gaze and nodded, Denny took hold of the handle and pulled the drawer completely open.

It was Denny who gasped. "Oh, my God! You look just like him!"

Alan silently stared down at the body of his father. His mouth twisted and worried itself as he inclined his head for a closer look. As was his habit, his hands moved to his chest and smoothed an invisible tie and jacket. He thought that Gowan Shore, in death, had a tranquil look on his face that he was sure hadn't been there for most of Alan's life.

Denny broke into his thoughts. "He looks younger than I do!"

Alan stared at Denny for a moment, looked back at his father and said, "Huh, I never thought about it before but, you're right, Denny. When I was born, my fa… _Gowan_ was twenty years old. He's 66 years old. I guess I was trying so hard to emotionally and mentally distance myself from him through the years, I honestly forgot that I _do_ look like him. This is surreal." Alan's voice trailed off and he focused his attention on the drawer's contents.

Denny watched him. He _thinks this is surreal! He's Alan twenty years from now. Same build, same hair color, same eyebrows, same_ face _! He still has all of his hair, looks like, and I can't be sure, but they may be about the same height. His dad may be 15 or 20 pounds heavier._ Denny was becoming unnerved by the resemblance. "Alan, I'm going to go speak with Dr. Stone. Come when you're ready."

"I'll just be a few moments more, Denny. The funeral director should be here shortly, anyway."

Alan approached them less than five minutes later. "Thank you, Dr. May I please claim my father's things now?"

Rising from the desk, she said, "Absolutely, please come this way."

They returned to the first floor and walked halfway back to reception. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her keys and unlocked a door marked Administration Offices that revealed a small office suite. They entered the second office on the left. Once inside, she motioned for them to sit in the chairs in front of the desk while she opened a file cabinet. She pulled out a medium size, yellow envelope and handed it to Alan. "The envelope contains everything he had in his pockets when he was admitted plus, after he passed, we removed his wedding band and put it in there, also." Alan had placed the envelope on the desk and was just staring at it. Dr. Stone said, "I'll leave you now. Stay as long as you want. Just turn off the light and close the door when you're finished. If you need me again, the front desk will page me. And again, please accept my condolences on behalf of the hospital."

Alan gave her a faint smile. "Thank you, Dr. Stone. You have been most helpful." With that, she went out and closed the door behind her.

They sat for a few moments; Alan staring at the envelope, Denny staring at him. Finally, Denny spoke. "How ya doin'?"

Alan cleared his throat. "Fine, I'm fine. I better look at these things so we can get out of here." With that, he opened the envelope and dumped the contents on the desk: an old leather wallet, keys, a wedding band, an eyeglass case and a comb. He picked up the wallet and opened it. There were no pictures, just Alan's business card with 'my son' written on it in his father's handwriting, a driver's license, health insurance cards and five twenty dollar bills. He passed it to Denny and picked up the ring. He rolled it around on his palm, and then stuck it in his pants pocket along with the keys. He checked the eyeglasses out, made sure nothing else was in the case, and then tossed them and the comb into the trash. He stood up. "Let's go, Denny. My father's house is only about 15 minutes from here. We'll stop for a burger or something on Enneking or Dedham Parkway."

"Sounds like a plan. Lock and load!"

 


	4. Chapter 4

The Dedham neighborhood where Alan grew up was quite modest. The house on Raven Hill was a small, one story, red shingled 5 room house with a six feet tall painted white wooden fence surrounding a backyard that contained a single car garage. Denny's driver parked directly in front. Alan stepped out of the car, turned and helped Denny out, then walked up to the front door, unlocked it and walked inside. Denny walked past Alan into the dining room, stopped and looked around. The furniture was sturdy and had seen better days. The wood floors were bare. He walked farther into the house; the bedrooms were down a hallway and the bathroom was located at the end of the hall.

Alan had stepped into the kitchen. _Incredible,_ he thought. _Nothing's been changed since my mother died._ He turned around to see Denny staring at him from the front room.

"How does it feel to be back here?"

Alan shrugged. "I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone. Denny, when I found out I had gotten a full scholarship to UMass, I moved to school that September and never lived here again. I would only come back if I absolutely had to and I would not stay overnight. The last time I was here was for my mother's funeral and when it looked like my father was gearing up to make her death _my_ fault somehow, I left."

 Alan moved into the dining room, opened the credenza and pulled out several shoeboxes. "Gowan was a man of habit. He kept all his important papers in here so he could sit at the table and do what he had to do." He pushed a box close to Denny and motioned for him to sit down as he took a seat. "Could you look through that box and pull out anything relating to the house, his finances and what have you?"

"Of course. Do you think there's anything to drink in here?"

Alan had started reviewing the paperwork in the shoebox in front of him. "I'm sure there is and I'm sure it's cheap, but you're welcome to whatever you find."

Denny went into the kitchen and starting looking through the cabinets. Alan heard him grunt, then heard liquid being poured into glasses. He emerged with 2 glasses and handed Alan one. "Vodka," he said. Alan held the glass up in a salute and took a sip before returning to the task at hand.

About 10 minutes later, Denny said, "Alan, I think you need to look at this."

Alan put down what he had been perusing and took the papers Denny handed over. They were newspaper clippings and Xeroxed copies of clippings, all about cases he had either first chaired or acted as co-counsel: The Black Widow trial, the so-called Trial of the Century, Catherine Piper's murder trial and many others. Some of the clippings dated back to the beginning of his legal career. Alan was staggered. _Why did he have these? Had he actually been…_ proud of me? Alan rubbed his hand across his forehead, "Oh my God…"

Denny reached across the table and touched Alan's arm.

Alan stiffened and sat up. "Don't. I need to get out of here. I've found his checkbook, ATM card and the deed to the house. The funeral home promised to send me official copies of his death certificate to the office by messenger on Monday morning. I can't do much more without those certificates. We'll take these boxes with us so I can look through them tonight."

"Good," Denny grunted as he put the clippings back into the shoebox, "I'm getting tired."

"I'm sorry, Denny. I've been so wrapped up in this business I wasn't thinking about you. Tell you what: On the way home, we'll pick up dinner, my treat."

"Damn right your treat!"

As Alan locked the door behind them, he asked, "Anything in particular you have a yen for?"

Denny settled himself into the back seat and reached for the scotch bottle in the bar. "Japanese. I feel like sushi."

Alan accepted the drink offered him and relaxed for the first time that day. "Consider it done."

Hours later, Denny and Alan were sitting on the balcony of Denny's bedroom smoking Cuban cigars and drinking hundred year old single malt scotch. Denny was wearing silk pajamas while Alan had on one of his favorite nightshirts. After dinner, Denny had forbidden Alan to look at any more paperwork. "Tomorrow's another day," he said and Alan had acquiesced. Instead, they watched movies while scrunched down in Denny's luxurious living room couches until they decided it was time for a nightcap.

"Denny."

"Hmmm?"

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"I have to. I don't know how I would have gotten through the last two days without you. I may look like my father, but I am more blessed than he ever was. Denny, he was so cut off from his own feelings, he couldn't even tell me that he was _interested_ in my career, let alone, _proud_ of it." Alan shook his head and looked into the distance. "I was heading down that path, too. You stopped me. And, I'm grateful. Maybe if Gowan had had a friend like you…"

"I want to ask you something, Alan."

Alan lolled his head over in Denny's direction. "Sure."

Denny put his cigar down and turned to face him. "Has it ever bothered you that I'm not only old enough to be your father, I'm _older_ than your father? You once asked me if I had hired you because you were a 'young thing.' Did you befriend me because I was some kind of father figure for you?"

Alan looked up at the sky and puffed on his cigar. "I don't think so, but who knows? I liked you from the moment we met. I hadn't liked my father for most of my life. That might have influenced my befriending you in the beginning, but if it did, you are so much more than that now. _So_ much more. You have helped me on so many personal and professional levels, Denny. You are my best, _best_ friend. I consider you my family."

Denny smiled, said, "Me, too," and looked at his watch. "It's late, I'm going to bed. You coming?"

The next day, Alan ensconced himself in Denny's study and went through all the papers in the shoeboxes with a fine-tooth comb. Feeling slightly ashamed of how little he had taken Denny's well-being into account the day before, he told him to just relax and he would review everything himself. It took him two hours to finish looking at it all. He came out of the study and found Denny reading in the library. "Hi."

Denny put his book in his lap. "Hello! Brunch is ready."

Alan smiled. "I _am_ hungry; all I've had so far is two cups of coffee."

They went to the dining room where the staff served them quiche Lorraine, salad, orange juice and coffee. After several bites, Denny asked, "So, what did you find out?"

Alan dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "Well, the house and the car are paid for and, as near as I can tell, all the bills are up to date. He was frugal, to say the least, so his only luxury seems to have been cable television. One of the keys on his keychain appears to go to a safe deposit box at his bank. He has both a checking and savings account and three CDs that come due next year. I have to be in court Monday until 4, so I'll go to the bank Tuesday or Wednesday."

Denny grunted. "I don't want you driving. You'll use my limo."

"Why, Denny? I'll be fine."

"I think not. You'll take the car Monday to pick up your father's ashes, then again when you go to the bank."

Alan sat back in his chair. "I forgot about the ashes!"

Denny smirked, "And, I'm the one with the Mad Cow. This is proof that you're distracted. That's why I don't want you driving. What are you going to do about the house and the car, anyway?"

They had both finished eating and had started to relocate to the living room. Alan said, "The car I'm definitely donating. The house I plan to sell. I'll go through it to make sure there's no other personal items or paperwork there, then I'll donate whatever furniture the Salvation Army is willing to take and toss the rest. I haven't lived in that house since I was 18; my mother has been gone for more than 10 years. There's nothing there for me. There hasn't been in a long, long time."

Denny turned and looked at Alan. "Come here."

Alan moved closer. Denny pulled Alan into a bear hug complete with back slapping. When he released him, Alan said, "What was that for?"

Denny resumed walking toward the living room. "I thought that was what you needed."

Alan said nothing but, as he followed he thought, _It was._


	5. Chapter 5

Alan was grateful for the normalness of Monday. He and Denny rose early and got to the Crane Poole and Schmidt offices before 7AM. He went to the Criminal Court at 9AM and argued motions all morning. He spent his lunch break with Jerry Espenson reviewing their notes and strategies for a _voir dire_ proceeding scheduled to begin that afternoon. When the judge banged his gavel to signal the end of the session at 4:30, Jerry, Alan and opposing counsel had only agreed on two jurors. Well, he would get to report in tomorrow's staff meeting that jury selection will probably last all week.

Jerry and Alan stepped from the elevator at CP&S and headed for their respective offices. Alan smiled at Clarence as he was handed his messages and went into his office to put his briefcase down. Clarence appeared at the door, "Alan? A messenger brought this for you. I signed for it." He handed over a large manila envelope.

Alan glanced at the return address, Kinney Funeral Home. "Thank you, Clarence."

Clarence smiled and turned to go, but slowly turned back to look at him. "Alan, um, I, I know this must have to do with your father and I know you don't want a fuss made because there haven't been any formal announcements, but I just want to say if you need anything at all, just ask." Clarence looked embarrassed for having said so much.

Alan said, "Thank you, Clarence. I'm touched. Really. The only thing I'll ask of you is to please not put this into the office gossip pool. Or, have you already done so?"

"No, Alan, I swear I haven't said a word and, I won't. Not even to Claire."

Alan nodded his appreciation and asked, "Do you know if Denny is around?"

Glad for the change in subject, Clarence answered, "I just saw him heading for his office about fifteen minutes before you got back."

"Right. You know where I'll be."

Alan walked into Denny's office waving the envelope at Denny, who was sitting at his desk with his eyes closed. He opened one to see Alan. "What's that?"

"These should be my father's death certificates."

Denny opened the other eye. "Certificates? How many did you order?"

Alan sat down on the couch, tore open the envelope, reached in and pulled out a short stack of paper. He counted quickly, and then said, "Yep. All there. I ordered ten certificates. Like my Great Aunt Gertie used to say, 'Tis better to have and not need than to need and not have.'"

Denny made one of his pig noises that passes for affirmation.  "I called the funeral home while you were in court; Gowan Shore's ashes are ready for you to pick up. If I may suggest…"

"You may."

"My driver is downstairs. Go get the ashes now and I'll be on the balcony when you come back. Unless, you want me to go with you?"

"No, I've dragged you around enough for the moment. It's less than 30 minutes away. I'll be back soon."

Kinney's Funeral Home was a pleasantly appointed, two story building located in Dedham, about a mile away from Raven Hill. Even though there were three occupied chapels and people going to and fro, when Alan pulled open the door and stepped in, he was struck by how quiet it was. The halls were all carpeted, heavy draperies hung at the windows. There was a directory that pointed the mourners to their loved ones' penultimate resting place, but he didn't see an office directory.

He must have looked a little lost because after a few minutes, he was approached by a slender woman dressed in a black suit with a name tag that said **Funeral Director** who smiled and asked, "May I help you? You look like you're not too sure where to go."

Alan smiled briefly. "I'm looking for Roy Kinney. My name is Alan Shore. He's expecting me."

"Yes, Mr. Shore, just walk through that door and go down the hallway, second door on your right."

"Mr. Kinney? I'm Alan Shore."

Mr. Kinney stood up from behind his desk and stepped around it with his hand outstretched. "Hello, Mr. Shore. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your father. Please, have a seat."

As Alan unbuttoned his jacket to sit, he said, "I really can't stay long, I must return to my office."

"This won't take long," Mr. Kinney replied. He reached in his desk drawer and pulled out a file. "I just need to give you these forms. We sent the copies of the death certificate to your office earlier today…"

Alan jumped in, "Yes, I received them."

The funeral director identified each form as he placed it in front of Alan. "This is the Customer's Designation of Intentions that shows we followed your wishes to have your father cremated. You need to sign the bottom and date it." After Alan slid it back signed, Mr. Kinney continued, "This is your Certificate of Cremation, your copy of the Cremation Authorization Form and your itemized bill along with your credit card receipt."

Alan accepted the file folder from Roy Kinney, returned the papers to it, said, "Thank you," and waited. Mr. Kinney opened the bottom draw and lifted out a black, hard plastic box that was approximately twelve inches tall, 5 inches deep and eight inches wide and sat it on his desk. Alan stared at it. "I have a bag you can use to carry it." Alan nodded and just continued to stare.  "Mr. Shore? Are you alright?"

Alan looked up at the man across the desk. "I, I honestly don't know," he whispered.

Mr. Kinney nodded sympathetically and said, "Maybe you shouldn't drive. Is there…"

Alan stood up and interrupted him. "I didn't drive; I have a car and driver waiting for me." He reached out and shook Mr. Kinney's hand, gingerly picked up the shopping bag by its handles and walked out of the office. He walked quickly through the home and out the door across the street to the car. He motioned for the driver to stay in the car, opened the door and leapt in as if he were being chased. "Take me back to Boylston Street!" he barked before he raised the privacy panel. He placed the bag on the floor and stretched out on the seat. He felt nauseous. He laid there until his stomach settled. He sat up, leaned against the door and looked out the window. _Guess there'll be three of us on the balcony tonight._

True to his word, Denny was on the balcony. Alan stepped through the doorway and placed the bag on the table. Before he had exited the car, he had turned the bag inside out so that the Kinney Funeral Home logo wasn't visible. He had had no desire to have the staff speculating about what, or _who,_ he was carrying. He took the drink Denny poured for him and walked over to the ledge and looked out over the city. When he turned around, the glass was empty. Denny held out the bottle, refilled Alan's glass and said, "Tell me everything."

Alan sat down, lit his cigar and looked at the box on the table. "It's all so… _final,_ Denny. When Kinney put that _thing_ on his desk my first thought was: That's my _father_ in there. I was a source of embarrassment to him when I was growing up, but somewhere along the line, he obviously changed his opinion of me. And, he never told me. To be fair, I had cut him out of my life completely. Gowan Shore was a lot of things, most of them unpleasant, but he was a _very_ proud man. He would never have called me to say he had been wrong. I should have reached out to him."

Denny put his drink down. "Alan, look at me," and when Alan did, Denny told him, "What's done is done and can't be changed. Forgive yourself. Do whatever you need to do to make that happen. If you ever have a son that you get to raise, treat him better than you were treated. That's all you can do."

Alan nodded in agreement and said, "The man's entire life comes down to…," he waved his hand at the box, " _that._ It doesn't seem right. Even for Gowan Shore."

Denny blew out perfect smoke rings and asked, "Are you rethinking your plan not to have a service?"

"I am. I'll make up my mind tomorrow. The staff meeting isn't until 11 and I don't have to be in court until 1:30; I'll be at the bank when it opens. It's been a long day, Denny. Let's go home."

Nine o'clock the next morning found Alan at the Dedham Institution for Savings on Bussey Street. The first thing he did was go to his father's safety deposit box. Inside, he found, among other things, his father's will. It had been written years earlier and witnessed by an officer of the bank. Alan glanced it over and saw that he was the sole beneficiary. _Well, when there's no other family left, there really isn't much suspense about who inherits. I would have been shocked if he left everything to charity; God knows he was not a charitable man._ He put everything except the will into his briefcase and went back upstairs to the ATM machine in the vestibule. He had noted when he found the ATM card that his father, who was always terrible at remembering numbers, was still in the habit of writing his PIN on the card itself. He checked the balances in his father's accounts; the two combined were less than one thousand dollars. _Amazing. His house was paid for, his car was paid for, and all of his bills were up to date. There really is a lot to be said for 'pay as you go.'_ Though it wasn't the most ethical thing to do, he withdrew the bulk of the monies then went to sit with one of the Customer Service representatives. After he introduced himself, he replied to the question that yes, he was _that_ Alan Shore of Crane Poole and Schmidt. He wasn't surprised when he was told his father had never mentioned he _had_ a son, let alone a son with some name recognition. The representative promised that a check for the balances in his father's checking and savings accounts would be mailed to him in care of his office as soon as the paperwork cleared. The Certificates of Deposit were also put in his name.

Alan was in Denny's office by ten forty-five. Denny had been reading his newspaper when Alan walked in. He folded it carefully and said, "So, how did it go?"

Alan unbuttoned his jacket and sat on the sofa.  "Not too bad," he answered, "once the service rep saw the will, things went rather smoothly. I'll file the will in Probate Court later on today. There were a few other things in the safe deposit box: my mother's wedding ring, my grandfather's watch and an envelope that I am fairly certain contains pictures. I didn't take the time to look. I'll do it tonight."

Denny smiled and said hopefully, "We'll look together. Maybe they're nudie pictures! Of very hot women!"

Alan made a face and said, "And with my luck, they will be of my mother; as if I need another reason for therapy. Come on, I want to get the seats farthest away from Paul."

That evening on the balcony, Denny decided he was not going to push Alan to talk about anything. _I can wait._ He looked at Alan, who was contentedly gazing up at the sky with his cigar in one hand and scotch in the other, and smiled. Alan caught the smile out of the corner of his eye, smiled back and turned to look back at the sky. Denny drained his glass, refilled it, swirled the brown liquid lazily and puffed on his cigar. _I can't wait._ "Alan, what are you thinking?"

Alan sat up and flicked the end of his cigar over the ashtray. "Well," he started, "I was thinking about how sad it is that the city lights obscure the stars. Then I was thinking about how many stars I can see from your bedroom balcony. Then I thought, wouldn't it be wonderful to go _to_ the stars…"

Denny twisted around to face his friend. "You know full well what I mean! Have you come to any conclusions regarding the Gowan Shore situation?"

Alan grinned. "It's fun to yank your chain, Denny. I have, indeed, come to some conclusions about my Gowan Shore situation. And, having made those decisions, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders." He leaned back, sucked on his cigar and smiled.

He could feel the full weight of Denny's eyes on him. He chuckled softly and said, "Alright, Denny, no more foreplay. He's not going to be our roommate much longer; I'm going to spread his ashes this weekend in his backyard. The 'service,' will be for family only; in other words, you and me. Between now and then, I'll go to the house just to reassure myself that there are no other papers to be found. The car is being picked up on Friday. I will have the house emptied of furniture and retain a real estate agent to handle the sale. I'm keeping my grandfather's watch just for the continuity of it all and I'm putting my parents' wedding bands in my safe deposit box along with my wife's and my rings. I don't want to keep any of them especially, but I don't feel comfortable getting rid of them. Does that make any sense?"

Denny held out his left hand. "See this wedding ring? Six marriages, same ring. Denny Crane. Saves time _and_ money. Think about it."

Alan laughed. "So, Denny, my biggest loose end is the envelope and its contents. Do you want to look at them now or when we get to your place?"

Denny looked at his watch and said, "I'm hungry. Let's go to dinner, then go home and look at the pictures over a nightcap."

Alan finished his drink and said, "Let's go."

Alan waited until Denny came out of the bathroom and got into bed. He had been holding the envelope on his lap with only his Denny Crane bear to keep him company. When Denny was settled in and comfortable, Alan opened the envelope, pulled out the photographs and started to look at them. After he examined each picture, he passed it to Denny, who studied each one with great interest. "These pictures are great, Alan. You and your wife look so happy. Do you remember taking these pictures?"

Alan shook his head and replied, "No, they're all candid shots. These must have been taken by my father. I've never seen them before. He never showed these to me. I don't really remember him from my wedding day. I know he was there with my mother, but I was under the impression that he was just escorting my mother; that he didn't really care about any of it." Alan looked through all of the pictures again. He placed them back in the envelope and put it on the nightstand. He turned out the lamp and slid down to put his head on the pillow. Denny turned off his lamp and reached out. Alan moved into a spooning position, pushing Denny Crane bear to the side. "Goodnight, Denny." As he slipped away into sleep, he looked at the container on the dresser that held his father's ashes and thought, _Goodnight, Gowan._


	6. Chapter 6

Saturday morning at 10AM found Alan and Denny standing side by side in the Raven Hill backyard of Alan's childhood home. Alan had insisted they wear suits and ties for the occasion. He was silently cradling the container in his left arm and looking at the ground. After three minutes of that, Denny was getting impatient, but even he knew better than to break Alan's state of reflection. Finally, Alan raised his head. "I have something to say to Gowan that I want you to hear, Denny."

"I'm listening."

In a quiet but firm voice, Alan began to speak. "Gowan Shore, as a child, I feared you. As a teenager, I hated you. As a young man, I disliked you. As a middle-age man, I didn't think about you. I thought I knew all there was to know about you and, I didn't like any of it. I had cut you out of my life and I was content to leave it that way. Fortunately, for both of us, I have a best friend who loves me unconditionally and wants the best for me always. He is the reason why I'm standing here today and able to say: I was wrong. Yes, you were a horrible parent to me, but maybe I should have left the door ajar instead of slamming it shut. Maybe I would have found out that you were, if not proud of me, at least _interested_ in me and my career."

"I am sorry I wasn't the son you wanted when I was a child. I'm sorry I didn't give you an opportunity to tell me you cared when I became a man."

"Before I let you go, I want you to know: I forgive you. I forgive you for making fun of me when I was bullied and too scared to fight back. I forgive you for shaming me as a bed wetter because I was too afraid to walk past the clown on the wall. I forgive you for almost killing me for getting Adrienne pregnant when I was sixteen. I forgive you for everything real and imagined that you ever did to me. I have to because I need to put an end to this for my own sake."

"I forgive myself for not staying in contact with you. I forgive myself for almost letting you go unclaimed in the morgue. I forgive myself for not allowing anyone to offer condolences as if I had lost nothing. I have to so I can move forward with my life."

"I promise you that from now on, I will honor you by referring to you as my father."

Alan opened the container and emptied the contents around the backyard. When he finished, Denny walked over to him and put his arm around his shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Alan."

Alan smiled and blinked back a tear. "Thank you, Denny."

As they entered through the side door into the house for a final walkthrough, Denny said, "I _told_ you your closings are long."

As he had hoped, Alan burst out laughing. He put the container on the floor where the credenza used to be and still chuckling, held the front door open for Denny. Just before he closed the door, he looked around for the last time and said, "Goodbye, Father."


End file.
